End of the Line
by MomentousNote
Summary: First they ran into each other on New Year's Eve. Then they landed in jail together. And now here they were again, going to Coney Island. After a series of chance encounters, Louise Stark became best friends with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, and they swore to have each other's backs until the end of the line. Bucky/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

 _1932_

The sharp gust of wind nearly knocked the small girl off the narrow construction beam. She tottered, and for a second that stretched to eternity, she leaned to the side, half of her body hanging over free air. Gasps from the small crowd below floated up to her and she gritted her teeth, hating that the false move made her look weak. Louise slowly regained her balance, an uneasy feat with her worn flats threatening to send her tumbling.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she panted for breath. She wasn't so far up that the fall would kill her, but she wouldn't be lucky enough to escape without a scratch. A twinge of regret hit her as she glanced down. Her family didn't have the money to pay a hospital bill for her stupidity.

Another burst of autumn air cut through her. The beam creaked out in protest. It swayed lightly, a sleeping beast threatening to wake and throw her into the abyss, like those in the bedtime stories her brother used to tell her. Except she wasn't a hero who could prevail against any challenge. She was only _Little Louise_ , poor and vulnerable and talentless.

With an unpleasant jolt, Louise was reminded of why the boys who played here after school refused to clamber up this monolithic building. Raymond Ayers had taken a nasty plummet from the top of the structure last May. He'd banged his head on the way down, but everyone had thought he was okay save for the bone sticking out of his wrist. Until he collapsed after he'd taken a few steps. The ambulance took an hour to reach the site, just in time to collect his body. He'd been bleeding internally. After that, the black-and-whites increased patrol to arrest trespassers. It'd taken the kids months to trickle back in.

Until Louise, no one had dared to scale "Ayer's Fall". She peeked at the distant heads following her progress from the dirt-packed ground with the ghost of a pleased smile. They'd stopped to watch her, to see if she, a girl, could manage to climb to the top of the building they were too scared to face. She couldn't very well back down now, even if she wanted to. If she did, she'd risk losing her hard-earned respect from some of the boys. They'd never let her live down the failure, and the general shunning from the upper-class girls at school would worsen with the news of her latest spectacle.

And not to mention, there was the bet she'd made. No way was she going to let Walter Rimmers hold this over her head, risk being called a chicken. He could single-handedly drag her through the mud if she disappointed. The last thing she wanted was to give him the opportunity to do so.

"Come on, Lou!" Eugene Geraldson shouted, his scratchy voice fading a bit in the howling wind. Louise couldn't decide if he was speaking with a heavy dose of worry or if that was his standard, signature wobble placing an uncertain quiver on every word. He was, according to Louise's brother and his friend, twitchy by disposition and softer than the average male, which attributed to his skittish willingness to please. He flocked to Walter for protection, even though Walter was quick to take his rage out on him, the closest punching bag.

"Hang it up!" Eugene yelled. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"Yeah!" Walter agreed, latching on to the thread of concern. He was more fearful of losing his money and dignity than he was for her safety, and this was as good a time as any to try to talk her out of going through with the bet. "This is nuts! I didn't think you'd go and do it!"

"Tough. I'm gettin' my dollar, Walter," she promised herself. She was nearly to the apartment's top rafters, a foot left to go at the most. Her smirk widened into a smile.

"Pain in my neck," she heard Walter groan. Louise didn't take the comment to heart. He had been muttering that since the first time they'd met and she'd spilled her lunch of week-old soup on his new shirt and then demanded he pay for a new lunch since he'd slammed into her and caused a ruckus.

"So when Little Lou takes a tumble, are we gonna rename the Fall after her?"

Louise scowled at the nasally voice that was as welcome as the sound of chalk on a chalkboard. Unlike the other boys, Stanley Cravenshaw's voice had yet to break and drop an octave. And so, _naturally_ , he bullied people to make up for this shortcoming. Clearly Louise had missed the connection somewhere, since Stanley's logic didn't make a lick of sense to her.

"What do you think, Eugene? What about you, Walter? I'm willing to make a bet on how long it'll take," Stanley guffawed, much like the oh-so-pleasant snort of a pig. Did he really think that talking loudly enough about her so that she heard would make her lose her balance? _He could at least give me some credit._

Louise couldn't hear Walter's response, but she glanced down long enough to see him slap Stanley's outstretched hand away. After staring at it for a beat too long. Louise crinkled her nose. The jerk had paused to consider Stanley's stinking offer. Maybe he would've accepted if they didn't hate each other, too. Fortunately for her, Walter could hold a grudge like nobody's business, and he favored her a little more because she didn't gift him with a shiner around the clock.

Another fight was brewing below, the tension radiating off of them like steam. Louise would have preferred to be back on the group before their brawl erupted. She didn't have much against Walter, but Stanley was bulkier and one of the heavy weights on the wrestling team. He could land a hit on someone his size and make it stick. Walter was more likely to knock himself out by tripping over his untied shoelaces. If he was lucky he could land an accidental punch on the way down, but that was a stretch.

"Not talking to me, Eugene?" Stanley asked snidely, raising his voice specially for Louise. "Is it because I told everyone you're a queer? I would apologize, but it's true!"

"Lay off, knucklehead!" Louise snapped.

"I'd watch what you say, Lou!"

Louise let out a very unladylike snort. "Why don't you come up here and get me, Stanley?" But then she remembered that Stanley wasn't like the stray, starving dogs she passed by on the way home. He wouldn't bark and retreat like a coward. He'd retaliate, regardless of the consequences, and she wanted to be off the rafters when he did.

Louise threw her arms out for balance like she'd seen a tightrope walker do a couple months ago, at the circus she'd snuck into with her brother Howard. _I can make it_.

"Don't tempt me!" Stanley threatened, and then yelled, "Say, Lou, when's the next time you're going to get new clothes? Aren't you tired a goin' 'round in rags?"

Louise was flinging an insult back at him before she had time to think. "It was you who met his pants the day Ayer fell, right? What did your pa say when you came home soiled?"

Walter dissolved into his boisterous laughter and Louise winced. He had the cruelest sense of humor she'd ever known, and if he thought it was so funny that he wheezed afterward, she knew she'd gone too far.

"I did not!" Stanley screeched, his voice breaking apart. "You threw water on me!"

She could imagine his face twisting into a snarl, the red streaking from his neck up to his ears, the veins popping up, throbbing. Louise had to stop herself from apologizing like a proper young lady—but then again, a lady would've kept her trap shut in the first place. Growing up with someone like Howard had done her wonders.

"Oh, my bad," she mustered, although there was no way they could hear her half-meant apology. It wasn't as though she'd lied anyway. Stanley _had_ peed himself, but he'd lied to save face. She'd dumped water on him before anyone noticed and let him use her as a scapegoat out of pity.

Louise carefully took a couple more steps when the construction rafter shuddered violently. She yelped and dropped low against the beam to keep her balance.

"What are you doing?" Eugene suddenly cried. Louise paled as she zeroed in the trio below her. Eugene and Walter were running to the base of the building frame, where Stanley was standing. No, not _standing_ , she realized with sinking dread. Stanley heaved himself against the support beam stabilizing the rest and it sent rolling shudders up to her rafter. It shifted loose from the withered frame, jolting with a bang.

"You're gonna get Louise killed!" Walter shrieked desperately, clawing at Stanley's sleeve. "Knock it off!"

If Louise hadn't known it yet, it became painfully obvious that things were in bad shape. Walter never panicked.

She hugged the beam tightly, praying to God that she wouldn't fall. This as a terrible idea, really. An extraordinarily idiotic one. _But it's the only one I've got_. Louise shimmied backwards, slackening her grip. She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to three, and let herself slide down the steel, dark hair battering her face.

There was another painful _bang_ and the beam went into freefall. Her stomach shriveled into nothingness and she screamed. She had a fleeting thought—she hated rollercoasters. She'd never been on one, but she figured this terrifying weightlessness was close enough to the kind Howard's friend Joseph had described.

The rafter came to another abrupt stop, lodging against a piece of the building. For a blessed moment, everything was still. Then Louise lurched with the momentum and popped her elbow against the metal beam. It smarted, a dull throbbing, a bruise to be paid for later. Mind racing, she hastily resumed her descent, and then she was suddenly landing on the ground in a heap of threadbare clothing and a cloud of dust. Louise blinked in a daze, head buzzing.

She clumsily found her footing and staggered, hardly aware of any sound except the ringing in her ears. It hardly registered that the other boys playing had scattered and that only she, Eugene, Walter, and Stanley remained. And for once, Walter was treating Stanley to one impressive shiner. Had the trip down caused her to hallucinate?

Eugene was trying to pull Walter off, mouth squawking. Louise wobbled in their direction, and the nearer she got, the worse Stanley looked. He had more than a black eye. His entire face was beginning to swell, a patchwork of blue and black and purple, splotched with salty wetness. Stanley Cravenshaw was sobbing.

Louise found her voice. She couldn't tell if she was whispering or shouting. "Walter! Walter. Stop! I'm fine, see?"

He wasn't listening to her. When he drew his fist back for the next punch, Louise grabbed his arm. A pointless attempt. Walter wrenched his hand out of hers with little effort, shoving her away. She tripped onto the ground again, and the world spun.

"Louise Stark!"

She cringed and Walter stiffened, arm halting an inch from Stanley's bloody nose. Eugene's eyes jumped from Walter to her to Joseph Manfredi. They watched with rapt attention and bated breath when Joseph's leg caught in a pit in the dirt. No one laughed.

" _Goddammit_ ," Joseph swore, jerking his foot out. He turned his ferocious glare on Louise. "What're you doin' over here, Lou?"

He was in front of her in a few long strides, roughly hauling her to her feet. She guiltily shied away from his frenzied panting and disheveled hair. He reminded her of a hyena.

"I was supposed to meet you?" She figured the fall had jostled her memory, because she couldn't remember having a conservation to do so.

"Been waiting for half an hour, ace! Don't know why I didn't look here first." He raked a hand through his thick brown hair. She thought his knuckles, constantly scabbed and pealing, looked freshly split, crusted with dark specks of blood, but his hands disappeared into his pockets before she could get a better look.

"Aw, Joseph." Louise laughed a little, although she was far from amused. "I didn't mean to make you worry, honest. I was only having a bit of fun."

A hard glint flashed through Joseph's dark eyes. "Beatin' up the Cravenshaw kid, huh?"

Stanley's shirt slipped through Walter's limp fingers as he and Eugene shrank under Joseph's judgement, as hypocritical as it might have been. Stanley scrambled up with his tail between his legs. No one stood up against Joseph if they knew what was good for them.

Joseph rounded back on her. "And don't think I didn't hear that crash. Howard and I have warned ya not to come around here—you aren't hurt, are ya?"

Louise tentatively shook her head, pleased when the ground didn't betray her. "Just a little banged up is all." She touched her elbow. "No sweat. On the bright side, I won a dollar."

Walter grumbled something beneath his breath that had Joseph cracking his knuckles. She peered at them, distracted, flicking her eyes up to Joseph curiously. She couldn't fathom whatever Joseph was doing to hurt his hands like that, but it was more than beating people up in the occasional alleyway. She wanted to ask him, opened her mouth to do so, but as usual the words wouldn't come, clotting in her throat. He got so moody when Howard questioned him. Louise didn't want that anger directed at her, not when she was on his good side.

"You let her climb this thing?" Joseph growled, protective as ever.

Louise glowered at the older boy. " _They_ didn't _let_ me do anything! It was my idea—minus the collapse." She tapped her foot. "Now you have the facts straight for when you rush to nark to Howard before I get the chance to tell him myself."

Joseph glared right back at her. "All right, wise guy." He jabbed a finger at Walter and Eugene. "Give 'er the money you owe and scram."

"Come on," she huffed, rolling her eyes to the brooding, cloudy sky.

Walter scowled at them as he stalked over. He slapped the dollar into her waiting palm without another word and continued past her, refusing to look back and say goodbye. Eugene scurried after him with a squeaked "sorry" and downcast bug eyes.

Louise and Joseph stared at the pair until they were mere pinpricks in the fading sunlight. She sighed. "What'd you have to go and do that for?"

Joseph shoved his hands deeper into his trouser pockets before setting off for the sidewalk. She hurried after him, struggling to keep pace. "You shouldn't be hangin' with Walter. Don't like him."

"Neither does Howard," she grumbled, crossing her arms.

"With good reason," Joseph said with the barest hint of a smile she couldn't decipher. "He's nothin' but trouble."

Louise couldn't argue with that, but the triumphant little smirk on Joseph's face sure did make her want to. _He_ sought out fights everywhere and always had something to show for it.

"You're nothing but trouble and we still talk to you," she fired back, grabbing his arm from his pocket and pointing accusingly at his damaged skin. "What happened here, huh?"

That earned her a crooked grin and a wink. Her annoyance evaporated, leaving only a trace of suspicion. "I'm the good kinda trouble, ace," he replied easily, slinging his arm around her shoulders. He planted a loud _smooch_ on her hair.

She scrunched up her face and shoved him away with a laugh. "There's no such thing! Last week the cops near booked you for stealing."

"That's a bum rap," he breezily dismissed, though his sparkling eyes said otherwise. "'Sides, it was for a good cause."

Louise wrung her hands, looked down. "Thanks for that, by the way. Glad you didn't get caught, otherwise we'd owe you a helluva lot more."

"Hey," he said, as jovial as ever. Joseph drew her in again, tighter than before. "I can't have my best gal starving—oh, and you, too. Howard would never forgive me!"

She smiled.

"Oh, and you better not let Howard hear you talkin' like that."

She shrugged beneath the dead weight of his arm. "It's his own fault. You should hear him when he trashes something while he's working."

They lapsed into brief silence, something Joseph wasn't one for. "Did Walter put ya up to going to the old site?" he asked. "Tell the truth."

"Not everything is because of Walter, you know. I do have a mind of my own."

Joseph was smart enough to let the subject go. "Why don't ya ever go out with the girls or somethin'? That Elsie girl seems nice."

"How do you know that?" Elsie was a year above Louise and had never given her the time of day, save when she wanted to ask about Joseph. Louise smirked. "You find that out because she's got a good kisser?"

"No!"

Louise raised her eyebrows with a teasing smile. "Oh? No need to get so defensive."

Joseph sniffed indignantly, like he never messed around with girls. "I got my sights set on someone else."

Louise squealed, clapping. "Do I know her?—Probably not. Tell me about her!" she ordered, twirling from his possessive grip.

He licked his cracked lips. "You really wanna know?" he asked, dipping his head to her level.

She eagerly nodded, stepping closer in anticipation. "Mhmm! I won't tell Howard. Promise."

"It's…" he whispered, stale cigarette breath fanning across her face. The word hung in the air and she squirmed, impatient and uncomfortable. She hated the look on his face, the intensity. "… a secret."

Louise blinked at his slow-stretching wolf grin. She jumped back, embarrassment for being so foolish flooding her. He always played her.

"Ah, Lou! You should have seen your face!"

"Shut up, Joseph," she said with a quick glare. She tried not to feel too guilty for her relief. For a moment, she'd been sure… With that look… But it couldn't be. She shook her head. She was only imagining things.

Louise looked away, forgetting her worries when her eyes landed on old Mr. Jefferson. He'd been evicted three months ago from their apartment building. The tenants could no longer handle the erratic behavior that came from trauma and old age. With no family to lean on and nowhere to go, he'd been camped outside ever since— "keeping guard," he said.

Mr. Bluming, their landlord, didn't have the heart to force him off the premises. His own brother had come back from the Great War different. The term 'shell-shock' was passed along in murmurs. The war had twisted him up inside, made him see and hear things that weren't there. He had nightmares that stood against the light of day. Mr. Bluming's brother hadn't been able to handle the ghosts or the guilt, so he'd taken a shotgun to his head and pulled the trigger. Howard said Mr. Bluming was the one who'd found him, blood seeped into the carpet and sprayed on the walls.

Louise reckoned letting Mr. Jefferson stay on the apartment steps was Mr. Bluming's way of helping his old friend. But he rarely visited Mr. Jefferson now. Didn't treat him like a pest, either. It was more like he was invisible. Mr. Bluming couldn't grasp what the man had become, couldn't reconcile this shriveled shell with the Mr. Jefferson from before. _That_ Mr. Jefferson had a handle on the sickness.

Mr. Jefferson was curled up at the base of their building, looking more like a skeleton than he had this morning when Louise left for school. His winter coat hung off his frail frame, and his bony legs were drawn up to his chest. The arms hugging himself shook as he rocked back and forth with his head buried in knobby knees. The green cap with the loose threads he once wore was gone, likely taken by some street kid with survival instincts that won out against sympathy. The little that remained of his grey hair was wispy, and angry red scabs marred his head where he'd picked out the rest.

Joseph studiously avoided Mr. Jefferson, as though what he had was contagious, but Louise marched straight over to his corner. She was unwilling to let go of the paternal man who had once invited them over every day for a treat in winter, who'd taken to watching and protecting them when pa wouldn't.

She crouched, putting a gentle hand on his knee. Mr. Jefferson jumped violently and blindly reached out before looking up, trapping her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. When he raised his head, his pale gray, bloodshot eyes burned through her, seeing the bloody past he couldn't shake instead of the present.

"Mr. Jefferson," she cooed, "it's me. Louise Stark? Remember? Your Little Lou? I visit you every day."

His eyes went wide with fright. "They're coming," he whispered, jerking her close. "You have to hide!"

Louise thought she remembered this story. His infantry had been exposed. The welcoming enemy fire had sent a gush of blood onto Mr. Jefferson's face. The sergeant had been in the midst of yelling those words when he took a shot to the chest.

Last year, as Mr. Jefferson began to lose his grip on reality, he'd told her about the war. She listened because he needed her to, even as he told her about the stench of decaying flesh in the trenches. The dead men partially buried in the mud. The squelch of limbs beneath square boots. The friend whose face was blown off. The gas attacks that blinded troops, but somehow, he escaped with his sight, one of the few to do so in his infantry.

"You're not on the Western Front anymore," Louise soothed. "You're in New York, Lower East Side. No one's out to get you here."

"They have spies," he replied absently, casting a less-than-furtive glance around the sidewalk, eyes trailing every middle-aged man in a suit. "There's nowhere safe."

Louise grimaced. "How about you come on up for supper? I'm making a nice warm stew. You love carrots, don't you? My brother—you remember Howard?—got me a fresh bag yesterday, the last good batch the store had. I'll chop them up, make them just how you like them."

Mr. Jefferson came to himself for a second, a familiar boyish glow illuminating his hollow cheeks. His wrinkled face broke into a brilliant smile—or what once was before his teeth had begun to fall out—and the scar mangling his left cheek contorted.

"Thank you, dear. That's very kind of you." He patted her hand. "But I think I'll stay here. Make sure you're safe."

Louise bit her lip. "Are you sure, sir? Look, I'll bring you out some."

But he wasn't paying attention to her anymore. He was staring at an unseen monster, lips moving without sound. He flinched as though he had heard an explosion and ducked his head with a whimper.

A hard nudge at her shoulder drew Louise away. "C'mon," Joseph demanded. "Let's go inside."

"I'll bring you out some food, Mr. Jefferson," she repeated weakly, withdrawing her hand from his slack, gnarled one.

Joseph pulled on the apartment entrance door, and it grated against the cement in protest. It was always getting stuck in a little dip on the floor. Louise shivered, tearing her eyes from the broken man. He was rocking again.

"He's wasting. I wish he'd just…"

 _Get better. Pop up and live instead of acting like an animated corpse._

But wishing didn't get you anywhere. If you wanted something, you had to make it happen. Howard had drilled that into her brain.

"I know, Lou." Joseph squeezed her shoulder, fingers lingering.

Louise shuddered, took a little step away. "It'll be getting cold soon. This weekend or the next—no, it's already chilly. The nights are bad enough, but at least the snow won't be coming in for another month or so." She held her hands together, peering behind her at the rumble of thunder. "Just the rain… And didn't they say something about a cold front on the radio? I'll look and see if pa has any old coats we can spare. Something to help Mr. Jefferson. A blanket, maybe. I'm sure I can find one…"

"Lou, it might pointless," Joseph stated bluntly. "He never eats anything you save for him. It goes to the stray dogs and you need that food. And if you bring him a blanket, chances are it won't be there the next day. He doesn't have the marbles to keep it from the orphans."

Louise stared miserably at the stained carpet. "I can't let him fade away. I have to try and help. That's what I'd want someone to do for me."

"Not everyone think like you, ace."

She stopped at the bottom of the narrow flight of stairs, boring holes into the sagging, steep steps. "I know. But it sure would be a nicer world if they did, huh?"

Joseph forged ahead of her. "Yeah," he muttered darkly. She fell into step behind him.

"I'm going to have to wait 'til tomorrow. Pa doesn't like me rummaging through his old things, and he'll be home by now. Hopefully Mr. Jefferson can hold out tonight. Maybe I'll sneak one out," she rambled as they climbed to the fifth floor. She carefully avoided the step on the fourth floor with the massive dried brown stain and a gaping hole in it. Two summers ago, one of the tenants had taken a hammer to his wife for burning the food. Howard had overheard the tale from ma and pa, as well as their complaint about Mr. Bluming not having the money to replace the step.

"You know you don't have to walk me to my door every day," Louise said suddenly, rounding on Joseph. "I know you have better things to do than escort your best friend's little sister home."

He shrugged, grinning wildly. It almost caught her off guard, the unrestrained happiness on his face. She hadn't realized how little she'd seen him smile lately. "I don't mind, Lou. You're more exciting than my empty apartment anyway."

"Oh, so you're just using us!" she playfully accused before her mood dwindled to grim again.

"Duh," he confirmed, steering her to the right when she nearly plowed into the wall. She turned a faint pink, laughing.

"I really should pay more attention to where I'm going. Yesterday, when Howard and I were in Brooklyn, I ran into some boy. Well, I knocked him down. Howard, the jerk, he was howling the whole time while I tried to help him up. Poor kid, he was smaller than me and the same age."

Joseph cracked up and she swatted at his shoulder. "Don't you laugh, too!" she scolded. "It was mortifying!"

They stopped in front of her door with the peeling yellow paint and splotches of odd black specks. "Ah, home sweet home," she simpered sarcastically. Louise fumbled for the key, trying to jostle it out of her dress pocket. When nothing popped out, she stuck her hand into the empty space. Her fingers poked right through a hole.

"Um." She looked up at Joseph, but he was already on the move, taking out a key from his pocket. _Wait, key?_ "Since when do you have a key?"

He focused on jabbing the key into the lock. You had to wiggle it around to get the lock unlatched. "Howard. A couple weeks ago. He didn't tell you?"

"Oh. No." But something about it made her hesitant to accept his answer. He always looked at her whenever they talked. Almost too much, and it wasn't like him not to spare her a glance.

"You need to get a new dress," he mentioned, and this time he did look at her, quirking an eyebrow. Her stomach twisted. Maybe she'd imagined it. She was doing that a lot lately.

"No money. I'll sew it if I can find some thread."

"My ma's got some. 's red though—stick out like a sore thumb."

"Better than nothing," she said, although she had no intention of taking him up on his offer. His family had it as bad as hers. _Though Joseph seems to be coming into money._ The coat he was wearing was new and expensive and a ridiculous purchase considering the depression.

The door creaked open with a click, and Louise squeezed past Joseph. "Pa? Ma?" she called, tiptoeing around the mess Howard had left on the floor from his latest project.

He'd dismantled the air conditioner so he could understand how it worked and then apply the concept to his prototype based on solar energy. Louise had no doubt he'd succeed, the genius he was. All he needed was a buyer, and then he'd be in business, and they'd have some cash. At least, that was his general idea. The only complaint Louise had was that her brother worked too much, and he was only fifteen. He'd be a nightmare when they got older if he kept on at this rate.

"Careful not to step on that pile of screws," Louise warned over her shoulder, nodding at the mound beneath Joseph's descending boot. _New boot_.

He swore. "What's Howard doin' now?"

"Trying to make a more efficient AC. He's failing on the energy-conversion part, from what I can tell. He's not getting the photons to the electrons. He needs to change the design, make it simpler. That'll cut costs and bring in more of a profit. And there's a thing or two wrong with the board that he hasn't noticed—not that he'll listen to me." Her lips twisted down. "Or talk to me."

Joseph stared in awe. "I knew ya weren't like the other girls, ace, but this is a whole new level."

She laughed self-consciously, dipping her head. "Howard's the smart one."

He reached out and ruffled her hair. "You underestimate yourself, Lou."

Louise's skin crawled under his gaze and she moved around him. "Pa? Ma?—Do you hear them?" It looked like the apartment was empty. Sounded empty. If either of her parents were in the bedroom sleeping, the bed springs would groan under the weight, but even that was silent. She frowned. It wasn't like them to be gone. They didn't do much else except go to work and sleep. Ma stood in the market lines for hours on odd weekends trying to get more food. The rest was up to Howard and Louise.

Louise knocked on their door. "Pa? You in there?" She didn't hear his snoring or ma's heavy grumbling. She twisted it open. "Ma? Anybody—"

She stopped short, feeling as though she'd been doused by a bucket of ice water. Their room was stripped of all its sparse belongings, as blank and impersonal as it had been when they first moved in. The next step she took was like walking into the depths of the ocean with the tide moving against her. She was conscious of latching herself onto the bed frame, and the useless thing crumbling beneath her touch, but it was like she was watching from the sidelines. None of it was real.

She sucked in a harsh breath. There had to be a good reason their things were missing. Rodents or ants. They'd had problems with critters infesting the apartments before. Maybe ma and pa had scrounged up the money to finally address the issue. Instead of buying much needed food. And forgotten to mention it to her and Howard.

Louise placed a hand on her stomach.

"Lou? You okay?"  
"Wai—"

The word died on her lips at the sight of him. His brown eyes widened as he surveyed the room, and a dumbfounded expression fell over his features. He swiveled in place. "What… Where…"

Joseph spotted something and apprehension flashed across his face. He thudded across the room in three long strides to the left-behind dresser (it'd come with the apartment, like the bed) and snatched up a scrap piece of paper she hadn't noticed. He glared at the pink slip with a ferocity she'd only experienced second-hand through Howard and shrunk into herself. He shoved the sheet in her direction with a growl. She took it with numb fingers, dread curdling her insides. An eviction notice. Dated last week.

Louise shook her head and then couldn't stop. Where were they? They wouldn't leave. They had their jobs. _They have us_. _They wouldn't leave us. Abandon us._

The apartment door opened and slammed shut., shaking the floorboards. Louise jumped with a surge of hope. That would be ma or pa or the both of them, come home to explain, and everything would be right again. She ran out to meet them, oblivious to the frustrated heaving and scuffing she'd grown up with when her brother was in a mood. "Pa!"

She froze a second time, and then began to laugh, shoulders shaking. It was only Howard. Only her brother, who took care of her more than their parents ever had. Her chin wobbled and she felt like a five-year-old all over again, searching for ma after losing her on the streets of Brooklyn. She'd grabbed onto a lady's hand because the stranger had the same light brown hair and a son as tall as Howard and similar from the back. Louise could've bawled then about how she was lost, but she waited until she'd found ma standing in front of a dress shop across the road, staring at the latest fad with longing. She hadn't been able to comprehend that wistfulness, but she understood hate, and she saw it in the look ma gave her. Then she cried.

 _Wouldn't leave, huh?_

Louise whimpered, and suddenly Howard was on her, wrapping her in a protective cocoon. She didn't return his hug.

"They'll be back, Lou," Howard whispered, kissing her hard on the top of her head like he had when she was ten with a raging fever in the dead of January. Like he was about to lose her. "They have to come back."

 _Don't you remember?_ Louise wanted to scream. _Don't you remember how they forgot us around the clock and left us to raise each other?_

But she went along with him, because that was the thing to do. "You saw the notice." Her voice was hoarse even though she hadn't shed a tear. "If you haven't found them…" She couldn't get past that, couldn't voice the inevitable truth.

"I've only checked here and their jobs." Howard hesitated.

"Louise drew back from the safety his embrace offered. "And?"

"Pa was a no-show today."

She took a step back when Howard took one forward. He flashed a desperate look at Joseph. Like she was off her rocker. Like she needed handling. Like she couldn't cope.

"And ma hasn't shown up for work at the factory since the day after the notice came in," he admitted.

Louise stumbled into Joseph and darted away from him when he tried to steady her, his scarred hands making her skin dance. _Thinking it is one thing, but doing it…_

"They'll come back, Lou," Howard said hollowly, a broken record. He didn't believe it any more than she did. But she agreed anyway, a puppet manipulated into nodding its head.

Howard smiled absently. He attempted to hide it from her, but she caught the worry and panic edge back into his expression when his gaze flitted to Joseph. Louise sank into the ratty couch pressed against the living room wall. She picked at a string and ran her hand over her forehead. "What are we going to do, Howard?"

He swayed before collecting himself. Putting on a game face, he sat next to her and slung his arm over her shoulder. "We'll figure it out," he promised, kicking at the AC parts on the ground. "See about selling some of this junk. Hold us over until…"

 _Until what?_

The sound of a fist connecting with the wall made Howard and Louise knock heads. Louise flinched, both from the pain and from the sight of Joseph's anger. "What the hell?" Howard yelled.

"C'mon," Joseph said.

"What?" they asked in unison.

He stared at them as though they were idiots. "You're stayin' with me, the both of you."

"No, no, no," Howard hastily denied, and Louise adamantly shook her head. "That's too much—"

"Is not," Joseph said firmly. "It's the best option ya got, Howard. I can help. You know I can."

Louise frowned at the look they exchanged. What did they know that she didn't?

"For now," Howard thought out loud. "We'll be turned out quick otherwise, and you know how Mr. Bluming is. He won't think twice about seeing us hanging around still, what with Joe here. At least we know he won't ever get the boot."

Louise wrinkled her nose. "What? Why not?"

Both boys shook their heads and she let it be. "Yeah, yeah," Louise agreed tiredly. "I guess you're right. You sure about this, Joseph?"

He smiled crookedly. "Wouldn't be offering if I wasn't, would I?"

He would, but Louise couldn't bring herself to point it out.

* * *

The first time, Louise was awakened by a clap of thunder. The second time, it was thanks to the death rattle of the air conditioner as it wheezed out its last good puff of warmth. She traced the webbing of cracks on Joseph's ceiling with her eyes, unable to go back to sleep. If she stared long enough into the darkness, the fractures seemed to widen and grow. She pictured the tendrils curling out until the roof caved and covered them in debris. The walls groaned in response.

Louise shivered and drew her blanket closer to her chin, rolling onto her side. Her hip dug into the splintered wood. She'd refused to take up Joseph's offer to sleep on the bed. It was his place, and it was enough for her that he was letting them stay as it was. Besides, this way he and Howard could share the bed. But she was beginning to feel a sliver of regret. The cold prickled her chest with every exhale and inhale. She sounded nearly as bad as the poor air conditioner.

To make matters worse, the leftover rain from the earlier storm was leaking in from the cracked window. The semi-frozen droplets plunked onto the floor by her head, splashing her hair no matter which way she moved.

She sighed, and the exhale turned into a frigid cloud that drifted. _It's got to be at least ten times worse for the people outside,_ she thought idly.

Louise lurched upward in shock, blanket clutched between her stiff fingers. She'd forgotten. She'd forgotten all about Mr. Jefferson. She peered at Joseph and her brother. Neither had stirred, to her relief. Or, rather, Howard hadn't stirred. Joseph was nowhere in sight. She'd have to worry about that later…

Louise stood, taking the scratchy quilt with her, navigating the squeaky floor with expertise. After years of sneaking over with Howard, she didn't need light to know where not to step. She grabbed her sweater and shoes from the wooden desk chair and pulled them on, then slipped out the door. She didn't have the promised stew she'd offered, but the blanket was better than nothing.

The hall was rarely so quiet as it was tonight. Something about the cooling weather subdued the tenants, like clockwork. Winter came. Air conditioners failed. Heat sputtered out of the showers. Pneumonia stole at least one. Scared, the building held its breath at the turn of the season.

She pattered down the stairs, reluctant to disturb the stillness. If she made one wrong move, she got the feeling things would fall apart. More so than it already had. The front door of the building wasn't so willing to follow her lead, and the crash that pierced the air sent shudders down her spine.

A flurry of cold greeted her, chillier than she'd expected. She put a foot on the pavement and nearly slipped on the thin sheen of ice. The news broadcast hadn't said anything about a freeze.

"Mr. Jefferson?" she whispered nervously, squinting in the dim light from the lamppost at the corner. She could just make out his bent form beside the steps, in a near identical position from earlier in the evening. "Mr. Jefferson, I'm real sorry I forgot about coming sooner. I brought you a blanket, if you're sure you wouldn't rather come in. Our apartment is pretty spacious right now."

Louise crept closer, stomach twisting. "Mr. Jefferson?" He was uncharacteristically still. Even in sleep, he still fidgeted thanks to the combat of war. That was, when he managed to fall asleep. He only slept when it was an accident, after days of forcing himself to stay alert. When he woke, he'd be upset and pace around, babbling about how a Private Michaels had fallen asleep and gotten his infantry blown to smithereens. He had to stay awake, he said, so that wouldn't happen.

Now he was propped against the stairs. Louise swallowed the foul bile rising in her throat. "Mr. Jefferson, wake up," she pleaded, tears pricking her burning eyes. She knelt at his side, finally able to see the frozen rain clinging to his clothes, the frost on his face. His eyes were wide open and frightened. Louise pried his stiff arms from his legs to feel for the pulse she wouldn't find.

Louise rolled back onto her heels and blinked. She'd thought he'd look peaceful once he died, but he was as panicked as ever. And his fingers were splayed out, as though reaching for something. Louise frowned. She'd thought it was the way he'd been holding his legs to his chest, but it more reminded her of the stance Eugene took when he was trying to protect himself from an assailant, defensive.

Just as she was moving to get a better view of the splotches on his fingers, a vehement whisper broke the baited silence. "Lou? _Jesus Christ!_ Louise Thelma Stark!"

Louise jolted, jumping away from Mr. Jefferson. In a flash, Joseph had jerked her around. His fingers clawed into her forearms. Her heart thudded and she swore.

"What the hell are ya doin' out here?" he asked.

"Mr. Jefferson," she answered. Panic was battering her. "Mr. Jefferson's dead. I came to give him a blanket and I found him like this and he's dead. The weather—It must've gotten too cold for him."

Joseph released her, but didn't move away. He raised his arm to wipe away the sweat beading his forehead. "I'm sorry about him, Lou."

He didn't look at her when he said it.

She nodded wordlessly. When Joseph went to swipe at his forehead again, she found herself following the movement of his hand. His knuckles were freshly split and bleeding. She grabbed his arm with a force she didn't know she had and held it accusingly. "Why are you bleeding? What were you doing out here anyway?"

"I thought I might get more blankets for you," he answered, ripping his arm away. Joseph rubbed his hand across his pants, leaving a smear of blood.

She had every reason to trust him, having grown up with him. He was just Joseph Manfredi, the extra big brother. But. He avoided looking at her when he spoke.

And he never answered her question about his fists.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! Favorite, follow, review please.  
Some familiar faces will show up in the next chapter, but I wanted to first introduce my O.C and her life.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

 _Louise opened the door to their bedroom. "Ma? Pa?"_

 _The furniture they'd left behind was covered in thick blankets of dust. She banged her hand against the dresser as she passed, causing a gray plume to rise, a smoke in the air. Louise sneezed, backing her way to the center of the room. She raised her arm to cover her mouth and her eyes widened. She was wearing a coat of grime as well. She brought her hand up to her arm, slowly brushing away the dirt. Just as a hint of olive skin appeared, the dust returned to smother her. She wiped at her arm again. And again. Faster, harder. The dust remained._

 _Her knees buckled and she fell to the filthy floor boards. The air was poisoned and each inhale made it harder for Louise to breathe. She gasped at the tightness in her chest, feeling the hard_ thump, thump, thump _of the beating heart in her chest. Louise drew her legs to herself and wrapped her tingling arms around them. A choked cry escaped her as the room folded in on her. Her legs were frozen, even though her mind screamed at her to run._

 _"_ _Louise!"_

 _Her head snapped up. Relief flooded her and her body uncoiled._

 _"_ _Louise!" her brother yelled again, exasperated. "You're supposed to be seeking, not hiding!"_

 _Hide-and-seek? Why where they playing that?_

 _She found her voice. "Howard?"_

 _"_ _Come find me!"_

 _She stood. "Where are you?"_

 _His laughed echoed off the walls, contorted into something unfamiliar and cold. "That's the point of the game, Lou! You're the one who wanted to play."_

But I haven't liked this game since I was seven.

 _Louise ran out of the room before the dust could get her again. She circled the living room, searching for a glimpse of Howard. There weren't a lot of places to hide._

 _The voice slithered into her ear. "Come find me." She spun around to meet nothing but air._

 _"_ _I don't want to play anymore," Louise whimpered._

 _"_ _Fine!" The apartment door rattled, banging into the wall. Louise jumped, whipping toward it. She sprinted out into the corridor. The corner of his jacket disappeared around the corner. His footsteps pounded down the stairwell._

 _"_ _Howard, wait! Don't leave! Wait for me!"_

 _She followed him down the stairs but couldn't find him on any of the floors. She frowned at the lobby area, unsure of the direction he'd gone. She warily eyed the front door. Maybe Mr. Jefferson had seen him pass._

 _The door was stuck on the floor. Louise twisted her lips and tugged. Pulled some more. When it gave, she flew back with it. Louise smoothed her dress down with a shake of her head, and stepped out into the cold. She immediately gagged at the smell, a rotten stench. Her stomach roiled._

 _"_ _I dunno how you stand that stink," she commented as she hopped down the entrance steps. "Mr. Jefferson?"_

 _He was stiff in his usual corner. Louise inched closer, breathing through her mouth as the smell worsened. He wasn't moving._

 _He was a decaying corpse._

 _Louise scrambled away, hitting her back on something else._

 _A hand gripped her shoulder and forced her to turn._

 _Joseph. He didn't relax her. He had that glint in his eyes that she hated. He glanced over at Mr. Jefferson's body and whistled. "You were supposed to find Howard, ace," he admonished. "Not him."_

 _Louise opened her mouth—_

-and screamed.

Her eyes flickered wildly and her arms flailed. It took her a moment to recognize the room she was in. It was just a nightmare. _Just a nightmare_. Nothing real about it. Except ma and pa leaving a month and a half ago. And their emptied room. And Mr. Jefferson was dead and buried six feet under. But other than that, it was only a bad dream.

"Howard?" she called. "You home?"

No answer.

"Of course not," she grumbled, "or else you would've come running when I screeched."

She scrubbed the sleep from her eyes, forcing down her rising paranoia. Howard would never leave her, even if he had been absent a lot lately. He was just obsessed with working and making a fortune, was all. It was normal, if not annoying.

The air conditioner sputtered. Louise briefly tensed, then cursed her skittishness. Louise glared at the AC as though it were the source of her problems and kicked limply at it. No matter how many times she and Howard tinkered with it, the unit gave out after a day of steady chugging and relapsed to its pathetic wheezing. It reminded her of her alcoholic Uncle Jacob. He couldn't bring himself to reform either.

Louise scraped at Joseph's window pane, above where a snowflake had flattened itself. The cold seeped through the fractures, along with the water from melting snow. Her ragged fingernail caught in one of the cracks, the flare of pain drawing her attention. She withdrew her hand from the window, back to the safety of her lap.

Her eyes shifted back to the street, habitually drifting to the spot Mr. Jefferson once occupied. His corner was dark in the shade without the light from the dingy lamppost to illuminate it. Someone had broken the bulb; if she squinted, she could spot the shattered glass on the sidewalk. Mr. Bluming hadn't bothered to repair it, probably because he'd failed to notice it was broken in the first place. He hadn't noticed that the Starks had never returned the AC to their old apartment, either.

The image of Mr. Jefferson dead flashed through her mind. The terror in his wide eyes. The spots on his hands. She could almost smell the rot from her dream.

Louise stretched as she stood, wincing at the series of pops from her back. Falling asleep in the splintered chair had done her no favors. Her body ached from the hard bed. She bent to retrieve her fallen blanket.

Hands on hips, she surveyed the tiny room. She didn't have much to do since Howard and Joseph were in the wind. She scrutinized Joseph's unmade bed. He and Howard never fixed it when they got up. She marched over to it, angrily tucking in the corners and smoothing out the wrinkles. Her nail caught on a thread and the bedspread ripped. Louise growled, stomping to the kitchen for the sewing needle and thread.

She stopped short of the cabinet with the loose hinge, taking in the cheerless apartment. The only decoration on the walls was a family photo that hung crooked and had a layer of grime coating their smiles. This was not where she wanted to spend the day.

Louise returned to Joseph's room and stacked on her meager layers, ignoring the small but needling guilt in her gut. The torn sheet would still be there when she got back, and then she would fix it. When she had company. If that sort of thing ever happened again, that is.

On her way out, her gaze lingered on the pair of new gloves resting expectantly on the welcome table. They were a gift for her from Joseph, and far too expensive for her to be comfortable with it. She'd only accepted them because he'd nearly gotten into a brawl with Howard over the whole thing. And, sure, they were warm and comfortable and better than anything she'd ever touched, but she couldn't get past the feeling that by taking them she'd invited in more than a simple present.

 _Don't wear them_. She tore her eyes from the gloves, and shut the door harder than she'd anticipated. She cringed, and took off down the stairs. She slowed when she hit the first floor, when she had to weave her way through the clusters of homeless people. Mr. Bluming always invited them in during the holidays for a meal and temporary housing. Normally, she did most of the cooking and helped clean up afterwards. She'd forgotten about it this year, but maybe he'd let her serve dishes to make up for it.

She smiled at the men and women and children as she passed them by on her way to the lobby. She peeked into one of the recently filled bowls as she neared the serving line, and wrinkled her nose. It was watery soup with the occasional chunk of tomato and carrot. At least, Louise thought that was what the slices were. She slipped around the front desk that Mr. Bluming had converted into a make-shift food kitchen and stood at the ready.

Mr. Bluming glanced at her with a nod as he scooped out a large serving for the frazzled-looking woman waiting patiently. "I can't thank you enough," the woman said when he handed over the bowl.

"It's no problem," the balding man replied kindly, even though it was a lie. With the depression, everything concerning money was an issue. "I'm sorry the food isn't any better."

The woman shook her head vigorously. "Oh, it's the best thing I've had since June."

Once she'd tottered to an open spot on the floor, Mr. Bluming turned to Louise. "It's nice to see you here, Louise!"

Louise smiled weakly. "It's nice to see you, too, Mr. Bluming. You need any help?"

"Certainly, young lady. If the both of us could set out a bunch of bowls at once, things would move more quickly."

"I'll get right to it, then—I'm sorry I didn't help with the food."

Mr. Bluming batted her apology down. "Don't worry about it. You've had a lot going on." He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry about Mr. Jefferson."

Louise busied herself with filling up the soup bowls. "It's certainly been a time."

He nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure. I saw Joseph that night. He told me he was going to give Mr. Jefferson a blanket. I suppose he didn't make it in time."

She blinked. "He—He what?"

"Yes, it was a nice thought, wasn't it? Odd, though. He didn't have a sheet on him."

Louise absently passed a few bowls to the group of orphans in front of her. "Merry Christmas," she said stiffly.

* * *

Hours later, Louise emerged from the apartment building. Snowflakes floated down to kiss her cheeks and create a crown atop her head. She grinned as she walked down the street. Their normally dreary alley was lit up for the holidays. Lights twinkled bright white and laughter bounced through the bustling crowd. The symphony of a street band playing Christmas music danced its way up the block.

The delicious scent of cinnamon drifted out of the bakeries dotting the main street. Louise could practically see the curls of smell in the air, tempting her their way. Her stomach growled and she jangled the change in her pocket. She didn't have enough money for ice skating and food. She stopped in the street, frowning at the baked goods in the display window. A month ago it wouldn't have been a debate. Spare money went to food, hands down. But Joseph had been keeping them fed lately. He could buy some for her.

 _If_ she let him. The image of Joseph from her nightmare flashed through her mind.

She shook her head and sighed, looking to the left as she made to cross the street with the rest of the pack, right as she caught a glimpse of someone that wasn't there before. Louise balked and stopped, getting jostled by the flood of people. There was a man there, and, if she could believe her eyes, he'd walked straight out of the brick wall. She was sure of it; there was no way a man dressed in odd green and gold garb like that wouldn't be noticed. She squinted. Was that armor? Had to be… Nothing shined like metal.

Who was he, popping out of nowhere in New York wearing battle gear like that? There were kooks around, sure, but she'd never seen anything near the likes of him before. Curious, she started toward him. "Hey! Excuse me!" she hollered. "Mister!"

The young man turned his dark head in her direction. Even though his green eyes were wide and his jaw slacked in surprise, the hint of a bright, mischievous smirk lingered. He slowly raised a slender finger to his lips, a mocking cue to stay quiet.

"What're you do—"

Louise abruptly stopped again, blinking unsurely. The stranger was gone. Had disappeared in front of her eyes. That wasn't possible, just like it wasn't possible for someone to walk out of bricks. Had she imagined it? Had he been there at all?

Louise careened forward as someone rammed into her from the side, getting a mouthful of snow from the pile she'd landed in. Grumbling, she turned herself over. A man with a swishing, black overcoat glided to a stop, mean, watery eyes glinting as he looked over the girl. He chomped on a toothpick, rolling it to the other side of his mouth. Louise watched him blankly, too stunned to speak. She recognized his fair hair tucked beneath the black fedora, the unforgiving glint that was rumored to make even grown men cry—according to Joseph, anyway. She'd thought that had been an exaggeration, but he really did look capable of dismembering those who disappointed him.

 _I don't see why Joseph's so fascinated by him,_ Louise thought with a shudder. What had Joseph said his nickname was? The Silencer? No… That was the name of some mobster in California that Joseph had mentioned. _Mayfield is the One-Hit Wonder,_ she remembered Joseph saying, _because he's sucha good shot he hits his targets the first time. All it takes is one shot and it's all over…_

Before she knew what was happening, she was being picked up and placed on her feet. She shook her head with a snorted "thank you," unable to yank her incredulous eyes from _the_ Emerson Mayfield. What were the chances that she'd run into a gangster? And not only that, but the crime boss of New York?

"Watch where you're goin', kid," Mayfield scolded. He had the gruff, low kind of voice that made her think he'd smoked one too many cigarettes.

Louise couldn't contain the dirty look she threw at him. "You ran into me, Mr. Mayfield."

Mayfield's eyes flicked up and down her significantly smaller stature, shields up from her recognition. Louise steeled herself against the urge to run away, taking her turn to size the man up with a carefully blank expression. _I'm a Stark, I'm a Stark, I'm a Stark,_ she chanted in her head, as if that would build up her courage. Mayfield shifted his weight and his coat pulled to the side, revealing the gun stuck inside the belt of his slacks. _And I'm about to die._

She was struck by the image of him whipping his gun out, aiming at her head, and living up to his nickname. _Oh, applesauce, why didn't I let him go? Why'd I have to go and drag my pride into it like Howard? I'm done for!_

But instead of gunfire, she heard, "What's your name, kid?"

"Huh?" she wondered dumbly. "Uh! It's… Louise."

"And your last name?" Mayfield pressed.

Louise eyed him warily. Was this how the average conversation with a bootlegger went? She doubted it. "You asking so you can place a hit on me, sir? I wouldn't be the smartest chicken in the coup if I let you do that."

To her surprise, the man chuckled, the hard glimmer in his eyes fading slightly. "Why would I do that? 'Cuz you were in my way?"

"I dunno!" she replied defensively. "People have been gunned down for less."

He spread his hands. "That's not how I work," he promised. "With my business, there's always a good reason."

She squinted at him and his relaxed stance. What in the world was happening? "Forgive me if I don't believe you, Mr. Mayfield. I mean, no offense, but your line of work isn't the most honest."

A couple of kids swooped past her, shoving her out of their path. Unfortunately, it sent her into Mayfield's puffy stomach. Louise noticed the wallet peeking out from the inside pocket of his coat. Curious, she brought her hands up to help shove herself away, and slipped her fingers over the black leather in the process. The wallet came easily, vanishing into her jacket sleeve with the excited thumping of her heart. With the rush of exhilaration came guilt that she quickly shoved down.

"Sorry," she muttered, giving Mayfield a moment to fix his shirt and wipe away the imaginary dirt. Once he was done, and he'd failed to notice his missing possession, Louise smirked.

"What?" Mr. Mayfield asked.

She wordlessly procured his wallet and offered it back. "I just wanted to see if I could take it," I explained. "Sorry. This fella at my school tried to pick-pocket one of the teachers and got caught. I was only curious, honest. Seems like a good skill to have."

Mayfield snorted. "How old are you, kid?"

"Thirteen."

He sized me up again. "Well, if you're ever interested in a job, lemme know. I think I'd have just the gig for you."

Louise wrinkled her nose. "That's not exactly what I was expecting. Thanks, but I'd prefer to stay on the right side of the law."

A smile twitched at his lips. "What'd ya say your last name was?"

 _Back to that again._ "I didn't," she remarked drily. "I feel better keeping my last name to myself."

"That so?" he nodded solemnly. "You've got brains, Miss Louise. That's good. But I think I know ya from somewhere, and I need that last name to figure it out."

She tapped her foot. "Or you could just tell me where you think you've caught wind of me."

Mayfield barked. _No, that was a laugh,_ she corrected. "I like you. You've got… _moxie_ ," he complimented with a flourish. "Alright. Ya friends with Joseph Manfredi?"

"Why you asking?" she fired back, attempting to look uninterested.

"He's friends with Howard Stark?" Louise must've made a face or twitched, because Mayfield nodded. "Thought so. That make you—" he pointed "—Louise Stark."

She folded her arms across her chest. The only way he could know Joseph was if they worked together. It made sense, the reason he always looked like he'd been put through the ringer, how he was out all the time, occupied with the job she couldn't get out of him.

"How long's he been working with you?" The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

He smiled slyly. "Long enough. He's good for business—a natural."

"Oh yeah?" Louise replied waspishly. "That's a helluva answer."

Mayfield let out another rough laugh. "Damn right it is." His mouth sank into a grim line. "You want a word of advice, kid?"

She didn't answer. She got the feeling she'd get it either way.

"Drop Manfredi. He's in deep. Best you distance yourself so ya don't get hurt."

"Joseph wouldn't hurt us," she replied automatically, rubbing her forearm. _Anyone can hurt anyone._

"Maybe not on purpose," he agreed, knowingly watching her arm. She scowled and forced her hand away from the ghost of a bruise. "But Manfredi's a firecracker, see? He's bound to go off at some point, and when that comes, accidents tend to happen to the people ya care about."

"And has he? Has he done something wrong?"

Mayfield's splintered toothpick rolled around his chapped lips. "Not yet. Firecracker, rememba?"

Louise bit her lip, thinking of Joseph's bad moods. "Why're you warning me, Mr. Mayfield?"

He shrugged his bowed, broad shoulders. "Don't like when kids gotta pay for someone else's sh— _mistakes_ ," Mayfield checked his watch, letting out a low whistle. "I've gotta go, kid. Stay safe, huh?"

"Sure…" she replied softly, looking down at her hands. A shock went through her. "Wait! Your wallet!" She waved it in the air as he glanced back at her.

"Keep it," he hollered. "A gift."

"But—"

"But nothing. Merry Christmas, Louise Stark!"

She tracked his stocky build until he was swallowed by the crowd. For a gangster, he was a lot nicer than she'd expected. Taking on last look at the still empty alley, she continued down the street unseen, absently toying with Mayfield's old wallet. _Tainted greens,_ that's what Howard called them. At least now she understood where Joseph was getting his money, and why Howard and Joseph got into hissing matches over the Prohibition.

 _Boy, am I a fool,_ she admonished, coasting to a stop a while later at the railing surrounding the ice skating rink. She leaned against the cold bars, idly watching parents waddle around with their children sandwiched between them, sheltered from bad falls. Friends chased each other, laughing when one of the boys landed face first on the ice. Couples drifted past in their oblivious bubbles. A few lone skaters weaved their way through the crowd.

She banged her hands on the metal and shoved off, set to go stand in the winding line to rent out a pair of skates from the stand. But instead she plowed into a wall of person. She bounced back. "Again?" Louise groaned, scrambling for purchase on the slick ground.

 _The day just keeps getting better._

A set of hands fell on her shoulders, steadying her. "Easy, ace," the familiar, gruff voice said.

"Joseph." Louise jerked away from his touch.

"I figured I'd find ya here," he said with an easy grin, either ignorant of or ignoring her cold tone. "Thought you might want to do somethin' for Christmas."

"You mean other than spend the holiday alone with no notice from her brother and his friend?" she responded flatly, anger twisting through her like a snake.

Joseph winced. He'd caught it this time around. "Look, I'm sorry we left ya. I had some business to take care of and didn't think it would take so long." He brushed his fingers along his right hand, and she noticed the dark bruises decorating his knuckles.

She tapped her foot. "What kind of business?" she questioned tightly. "Beating someone up?"

His expression hardened and he moved his hands out of sight. "Don't worry 'bout it, Lou." He glanced away from her, noticeable guilt on his face.

"But I am worried. I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to be."

"I don't need to be?" she retorted sarcastically. "You're kidding! I ran into your boss—Emerson Mayfield. Today. Mr. One-Hit-Wonder?"

The color drained from Joseph's face. He suddenly grabbed her arm, a wild look in his eyes. "Did he hurt you? What did he do?"

"He didn't do _anything_ ," he hissed, twisting out of his grip. "He bumped into me and helped me up, told me about you—Geez, Joseph! What the hell are you doing getting mixed up with a gang?"

"Makin' good money," he said. "No one's getting' hurt."

She grabbed his arm, shoving his fist between them. "This says otherwise, knucklehead!"

"Pipe down, would ya?" he growled, taking a step forward.

Louise shuffled back, letting her grip go limp. She'd never seen him like this, wound up, dangerous. Save for the night Mr. Jefferson died, Joseph had never posed a real threat to her. Now he looked capable of doing anything.

He leaned in, head inches away from hers, feverish eyes boring into hers. And he reeked of cigarettes. Louise glowered at him, stepping away. He followed. "You aren't telling anyone, right?"

"That mean you're not stopping?" she asked instead of answering.

"Nah. It's a good jig," he said, licking his lips.

"Howard know?"

Joseph rolled back on his heels with a nod.

Louise shrugged, a shiver of revulsion racking her body. "Guess I've got nobody to tell, then." Louise searched his face, grasping for the Joseph she knew. She could see him there, in the glimmering affection in his cooling eyes. She could see her protector and her brother's best friend, the one she'd first met four years ago. Somewhere along the line that boy had turned into _him_. An aching pain squeezed her chest. She missed the old Joseph, and now she couldn't ignore the fact that he'd slipped away. This version of Joseph had been around a long while, right under her nose.

"Let's still keep this between us, huh, Lou?" Joseph asked amicably, spying something over her head. He quickly arranged his features into a friendly smile. She watched with alarm; he changed gears so easily it was hard to believe he'd just been on edge. His arm raised, and she flinched. She caught his grimace, but he followed through with his wave.

"There you are, Howard!" he called. "We were 'bout to come lookin' for ya."

Her brother jogged over to them. "Hey, Lou," Howard greeted, placing his arm around her shoulders with a frown. "How long have you been out here? You're shaking."

Joseph wanted her to lie, that much was obvious. And he was so smooth, she wondered if she could keep up. If it was a game, she could win.

Louise contorted her lips into a pout. "I've been out here wondering where you two went! Can't believe you left him behind on Christmas!" she complained, hoping the quiver in her voice passed for being cold. Or for fear that Howard had left like ma and pa.

She peered at Joseph and he winked at her. Disgust turned her stomach.

"Aw, Lou," Howard sighed, hugging her. "I got caught up with my project. Joseph was helping me, but then he disappeared—where did you go, anyway?"

Joseph snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot! I got you both Christmas gifts!"

Something in her broke at his boyish grin. "I don't want it," she said frostily. "She nearly took her words back when his smile fell to disappointment and a flash of fury. The expression triggered a wave of déjà vu. Any second now, he'd pick a fight with somebody. She didn't want to make a scene.

"I can't buy you anything because I don't have the money," she amended, Mayfield's wallet heavy in her pocket. "But I'll let you pay for my ice skates."

Joseph laughed, and Louise wondered if Howard could hear the relief in it like she could. "Whatever the lady wishes," he said, shoving the brown paper-wrapped gifts into Howard's hands.

Once he bounded off to the line, the cold seeped into Louise's bones. She leaned into Howard.

"Lou, you sure you're okay?"

Louise shifted so that she could see Howard, but he was watching Joseph, face drawn.

"Why?" she probed.

"Just a feeling…" he murmured.

She rubbed her nose. "I think we both know something we wish we didn't—Oh." Louise pulled the wallet out and shoved it at Howard. "A Christmas gift."

Howard tossed her a curious glance and opened it. "There's a hundred buck in here, Lou!"

 _Merry Christmas, indeed._

* * *

"Howard was supposed to come here with me to visit you, Mr. Jefferson," Louise explained to his headstone, toying with the fresh flowers she'd brought him. Simple daisies. They'd been his favorites. He'd said they reminded him of the only woman he'd ever loved—Dahlia. He'd met and lost her during the Great War. She'd been the only story he never gave up, no matter how much Louise pried.

She imagined that Mr. Jefferson was with Dahlia now, happy and at peace.

"He promised he would, you know—Howard. I guess I shouldn't have put so much faith into it. He's been breaking an awful lot of promises lately, so I can't be too disappointed. But I figured he would hold to his word because I'm his sister, and he knows how important you are to me. Is it wrong of me to be mad? I know he's got a lot going on, but he's always around when it doesn't count. The moment there's something that matters to me, he vanishes in the wind."

Louise stopped fiddling with the stem of one of the flowers in the bouquet when she realized she was on the verge of snapping it. The daisies had been hard to find, so she didn't want to go destroying them when they helped liven up Mr. Jefferson's dismal grave. The tiny little headstone only said his 'David Jefferson', and was already crumbling. They couldn't afford something better.

She busied her hands with unearthing the blades of dead grass from beneath the mounds of snow. She hadn't thought it'd be completely unrealistic for her to expect Howard's company. This was the first day since Christmas that he wasn't with her in every waking moment. He'd been careful to make sure that she was never alone with Joseph, dragging her around the city bubbling with an excitement so contagious that she hardly noticed she'd wasted entire days traipsing around in areas with stores she'd never be able to afford.

Louise ripped the frozen grass from the hardened soil.

"Howard's developing quite the talent for disappearing, Mr. Jefferson. He's almost as bad as Joseph. First Christmas and now New Year's Eve. I can't imagine what he'll leave me next for. My birthday, maybe, but that's a bit in the distance, and surely things will have improved by then. But I wake up and no one's home. I waited for him to come back, but I think he forgot. Anyhow, that's why it took so long for me to get over here…"

Louise squinted in though at the dark sky. The dull street lamps on the sidewalk outside the gates of the cemetery cast splotches of light onto the clouds like a pollution. Louise shook back her sleeve to look at her watch. A quarter to ten.

"I've got to leave soon," she muttered. "I'm supposed to meet Howard and Joseph in Times Square for the ball drop at eleven sharp. I just hope they remember. Howard's the one who wanted to go, after all. I'm sure he won't miss it…"

She stared at the grave, thinking about the night he died. The image still appeared in sharp focus when she closed her eyes. The horror, the clenched fingers, the splotches. When she tried to get a better view at those stains, the Mr. Jefferson of her memories blurred at the edges, a fuzzy snapshot that she couldn't alter and get a clearer look at.

Sometimes, though, she became convinced the drops on him were dried blood, and then she'd think of Joseph's bleeding knuckles. The way he'd told Mr. Bluming he was bringing some blankets to Mr. Jefferson but didn't have any, and the way he'd told her he was getting blankets for her, even though all the stores would've been closed so late into the night. The way he couldn't meet her eyes anymore when she brought Mr. Jefferson up.

"What do I do, Mr. Jefferson?" she whispered, because she was sure. Even if she had no definitive proof, she was sure.

Panic was mounting in her, and she wasn't sure what she would've done had she not heard the _clang_ of a trash can lid hitting the pavement. She followed the sound of the commotion like it was a lifeline (and maybe it was), until she was exiting the cemetery and a few feet away from the fight taking place across the empty street. Right where she'd parked her bike.

A scrawny, skinny boy with sandy hair stumbled, and when he picked himself up off the ground, he brought the trash can lid with him, holding it in front of himself as a poor imitation of a shield. The thing near covered his whole body. The two larger boys closing him in against the fence snorted at his defense.

"Looks like he can't get enough," the bulkier boy said. The other spat on the slumped over kid. By all appearances, he looked defeated, but when he lifted his head, there was a fiery determination in his eyes, the kind that seemed misplaced in a thirteen-year-old. He wasn't going to give up anytime soon.

Louise watched dumbly as the brown-haired leader of the duo drew his fist back and punched the boy. The way he crumpled like paper spurred Louise into action. "HEY!" she yelled, charging toward them. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The bullies spun in her direction. They were even more brutish up close, but not near as intimidating as Emerson Mayfield was. They shared a sly look and grinned. "And what are you gonna do about it?" the redhead with the snaggle tooth sneered.

Without thinking, Louise curled her fingers and threw a wild punch at the redhead, hoping she wouldn't miss. Her fist landed on the side of his jaw, knocking his head back. His hand flew up to cover his cheek in shock. She glared at the other bully. "You want me to punch you, too?"

They didn't move for a moment, so she drew her arm back again, but before she got the chance to swing, the boys were, to her relief, running.

She watched them until they'd turned the corner, and her façade crumbled. She stooped over, cradling her shaking hand. "Applesauce!" she gritted through her teeth. "I've never hit anyone before. That hurt like the dickens!"

The boy tossed the trash can lid away from him. Louise flexed her fingers and looked at him. There was something familiar about his face, those honest blue eyes and the almost sickly sheen to his pale skin.

"You alright?" she asked, extending her arm to help him up. He took it, then wiped his sleeve across his cut lip, unbothered by the blood smear it left on the material. Her mother would've been horrified, had she been around anymore.

"Yeah, thanks," he said. But with hair in a state of disarray and speckled with dirt, a cut lip, and the way he carried his weight on his right side, he looked like he'd been to hell and back.

"Geez, you ever heard of staying down and living to fight another day?" Louise wondered. She couldn't fathom Joseph or Howard keeping on pushing once they'd been knocked down once. It was impressive.

"Not really," he murmured drily. "They were trying to steal this bike."

She followed his pointer finger to it, resting against the fence. The bike was the only one they had, and even though it was Howard's, she was the one who used it. "It's my bike. I don't know what I woulda done if they'd taken it. I've gotta get to—Well, it doesn't matter. Thank you."

He shook his head, dismissing my gratitude. "It was the right thing to do."

"Except most wouldn't have done it."

He shrugged, and that's when Louise remembered where she knew him from. "Oh! You're the kid I ran into a while back in Brooklyn. Yeah, yeah! I bumped into you and you fell and my brother was laughing at what a klutz I am, that idiot."

The boy smiled ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I remember that. Couldn't forget how pretty the girl was."

A nervous giggle left Louise's mouth, and a faint blush colored her cheeks.

"I—I meant, I mean—" His shoulders slumped. "I don't talk to girls."

"I don't know what you'd call this, then," she replied, smiling at how cute he looked. She stuck her hand out. "I'm Louise."

He took it slowly, returning her grin. "Steven- Steve- Rogers."

"Nice to meet you, Rogers." Louise checked her watch. It was just past ten and she had an entire ride to get through if she was going to make it to the ball drop. She grabbed her bike off the fence and threw her leg over the seat, propping her foot on the pedal. "Thanks again, Steve! I'd love to stay and talk, but I've gotta get to Times Square, and I'm late."

"Steve!" another voice called. He and Louise looked down the street. A dark-haired boy jogged toward them. He was a good deal taller than Steve, she could already tell. When he stopped in front of them, the first thing Louise noticed was the stark difference between the newcomer's health and Steve's sickly pallor. The hint of a smile remained on his lips, like it could never be crushed by any other emotion.

"Who's the gal?" the boy asked, fixing the newsboy cap on his head. His twinkling blue orbs flicked up and down Louise, before finally settling on her face. She stared back, unsure of the emotion in his eyes. He finally looked at Steve, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips. "You get in another fight, Steve?"

Her interest piqued. "Does he do that often? He was defending my bike—Oh, I don't have time for this. Sorry. Stay outta trouble, Steve Rogers! I might not be there to break my hand for you!" she joked, kicking off the curb.

"Wait!" the other boy exclaimed. "What's your name?"

"Louise Stark! Have a happy New Year, boys!"

By the time Louise got to Times Square, she was damp from the mist and wanted to go back to the apartment, not deal with the crowd. She waited at the park bench by the hot dog vendor like they'd planned, and eleven o'clock came and went, with no Howard. At half past, she was antsy, and at a quarter 'til midnight, she was worried and frustrated.

"Lou! Louise!"

She jumped up. "Howard, what in the world is wrong with you? I've been waitin' an hour!"

"I know. I'm sorry, Lou."

He couldn't stop grinning and she couldn't take him seriously, what with the way he bounced around like a kid in a candy store. "What're you so happy for?" she grumbled, scowling.

"I sold it! I sold that AC, Lou, and they love my other designs."

"You _what?_ "

"I sold that and some project designs," he repeated, nearly yelling over the excited roar of the crowd as the countdown to the ball drop began. "That's what I've been doing, why I've been gone so much. I wanted it to be a surprise. We're gonna be rich!"

Her anger vanished and a grin split her face. Howard swooped her into a spinning hug, and they laughed. "Happy New Year, Lou!"

* * *

 **Sorry it's been like a month since I last updated, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter! New faces, plus a cameo if you caught it.** **On another note, if anyone is interested in making a cover for _End of the Line,_ please PM me. Thank you for the follows, favorites, and the review, and for reading!**


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